


A King's Hound

by Sharadethia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, game of thrones
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharadethia/pseuds/Sharadethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hound is sent to check on the Targaryens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A King's Hound

Viserys was never a caring man. In fact, some would say that he could hardly be considered a man. He was cruel, impatient, and demanding. Few could attend him, and even fewer could truly tolerate him. There were servants that Viserys preferred, most of them women able to satiate his desire, but there was one person that stood out to him.   
That man was called the Hound, in the Seven Kingdoms. He was not a knight, but he had considerable skill in the art of fighting and war. More importantly to Viserys, the man was ruthless and obedient. Long ago, he had sent for the man to be delivered and presented before him. 

When the Hound arrived, he was covered in sweat and had an expression of utter apathy upon his face. His lips were lopsided and his eyes were narrowed, betraying nothing. The burn on his face made Viserys grin. Fire, it was such a deadly thing, and it marked its property, as Viserys did. Each of his maid-servants were scarred on their right sides with a brand of his house, that of the Targaryens. 

The Hound was exactly what Viserys had wanted in a guard. He sent away the men that he had kept about him for protection. They left without hesitation, and the king basked in the power he held for a moment. “I’ve heard that you can best most any man in battle, Ser.”

“I’m no Ser,” the Hound corrected promptly, as Viserys had been told he would do. 

“And where do your loyalties lie?” the beggar-king asked, stepping away from where his chair was. It was an intricate thing, but not the throne he wanted. Gold-plated, woven willows were not iron; they were not impressive. It was chair far better fitted for a young princess. 

“Where the power is.” 

“Would I maintain your loyalty, Sandor Clegane?” Viserys walked up to the man so that they were face to face. “For you know, fire is the true source of life.” The Targaryen motioned to the taller man’s face. “And I think that there is more than enough gold to maintain any of your appetites.” 

The Hound seemed to be tired of the beggar-king already. “You have my loyalty, Viserys Targaryen,” he promised in his growl of a voice. The young man grinned madly. His eyes betrayed that he had a malicious trap set. 

“Prove it,” Viserys demanded. “Prove to me that I can put my life in your hands without worries.”

“And how would you expect me to do that, beggar-king?” Anger rose in the smaller man instantly. He smacked the Hound across the face with all his might.   
“I would have you removed your armour,” he demanded, baring his teeth. The Hound obeyed, his expression not changing in the slightest. The physical contact had hardly even faltered his thoughts. The young man was pathetic, he observed to himself. Cersei had sent him to size up the Targaryen, and the Hound was sure that he would go back to King’s Landing with a report that the queen would love. 

“Now,” Viserys said, putting a hand on the Hound’s shoulder, as he would for a hunting dog. “I would have you remove what’s left of your clothes.” He was not joking; he was not testing allegiances anymore. His eyes pupils had dilated and his teeth were bared in a snarling smile. The Hound obeyed, still staring straight ahead. 

Viserys was impressed by the man’s muscles most of all. The Hound was a formidable beast, with his height and weight well on his side in case of a battle. He was nowhere near the conventional standards of handsome, but he was fearsome, which the beggar-king cared far more about. 

“On your knees,” he commanded firmly. Again, the larger man obeyed. He seemed disinterested and entirely distracted by the painting that was hung above Visery’s ‘throne.’ 

It was a depiction of a golden dragon razing a small town. Straw caught on fire, a woman was screaming as her hair lit, children were crying in the background. It was a scene that Viserys dreamed of, and a vision that the Hound had nightmares about. The dragon contained a surreal brilliance about it. The light caught the oil paint, making the beast rise from its background and dance in the haze of the hot day. 

Viserys grinned at the man below him, the man that was entirely under his control.   
“You will be mine,” he hissed, grabbing the Hound’s flaccid cock in his hand and sneering. “And you shall be marked by a different flame, soon enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> My friend wanted a Viserys/Hound fic. So here is- nearly 800 words of a crackship.


End file.
